


Solid. Crystalline. Cold.

by orphan_account



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-07
Updated: 2013-11-07
Packaged: 2017-12-31 19:34:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short drabble dragged out of me by some photos and videos of Heikki in his ice hockey days.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solid. Crystalline. Cold.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellie_mayflower](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie_mayflower/gifts).



It calls to him.

When he’s asleep he dreams of it, when he’s awake he yearns for it. He misses it.

It doesn’t help that he’s apart from it for the most of the year, and each time he returns he’s filled with the fear that this will be the time where he’s forgotten how, that he won’t remember what to do. And each time he’s relieved that his muscles always know, always fall back into the familiar stance and it’s still so easy. Like breathing. 

The first step is always hesitant - a huge breath in before he lets his foot fall, a lungful of frigid air cooling his insides, and then… 

Freedom. 

He glides over the ice, his feet falling into a steady rhythm and he silently berates himself for going this long without skating, for going this long without feeding the part of himself that aches for this feeling. There’s nothing in the world that ignites his insides like being on the ice does. It’s so intrinsically a part of him that sometimes he wonders if he would bleed frozen drops of water when cut, and then gets surprised when his veins are full of just scarlet. 

He learnt to skate almost as soon as he could walk, taking to it instantly, drifting across frozen puddles and lakes on a tiny miniature pair of skates like he was born to do it. When he was older he picked up a stick and pads like all Finnish boys do and trained until he was kicked out of every rink as they closed for the night. Being forced away against his will. 

There was just something about it, gliding across the smooth surface, pushing himself hard and then letting himself coast, something that created both a sense of calm and excitement in the same second. Like every emotion was fighting inside him to come to the surface, his exposed skin tingling and breaking out into goosebumps as he cut through the chill air. 

He brought Sebastian here once, to show him the ice, in the hope that he would understand. Seb was all arms and legs though, slipping and sliding, knees and ankles buckling as he watched. More than once he thought that Seb had seriously injured himself, only for Sebastian to erupt into laughter, cracking jokes about his clumsiness. So he breathed several sighs of relief and skated in circles around him, feeling Seb’s eyes watching him. _Enjoying_ Seb’s eyes watching him. This was _his_ element, on this surface he was the winner, the champion. It made his blood sing. 

It’s always over too quickly.

He feels like he’s continually being dragged back to real-life by the throat, like the world fades to grey slightly the second he steps off of the ice and his limbs pine to go back. Every minute spent away from the rink is a minute that he should have been on it. Life passes him by in chunks of time between skating, at airports and racetracks with no sign of any ice for miles. 

But he knows deep down that half of his heart will always be there, waiting, frozen. 

Solid. Crystalline. Cold.

 


End file.
